


Emperor's Folly

by Anxiety_Elemental



Series: Wranduin Week 2020 [1]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Bad end, Black Emperor Wrathion, M/M, Wranduin Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anxiety_Elemental/pseuds/Anxiety_Elemental
Summary: The Black Emperor puts away his old, foolish fears, and enters Stormwind Keep.
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Series: Wranduin Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914814
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	Emperor's Folly

**Author's Note:**

> For day 2 of Wranduin Week with the prompt Emperor!Wrathion.
> 
> Warnings include: graphic violence, and bad end-ness. This story does not have a happy ending.

The sky had turned to perpetual night full of unkind stars, and across the face of Azeroth, N’zoth had erupted to bring peace to the shattered planet. Stormwind was but a microcosm of that beautiful remade world, where the last stragglers unwilling to embrace the future still fought in vain. Azeroth was safe now, no more wars, no more Legion, no more Scourge, no more terrors from beyond the veil. Only silence.

As it should be, as it always should have been.

Wrathion made it possible. Where his Father failed, Wrathion ascended, becoming the Black Emperor of the Old God’s remade Azeroth.

As he walked the streets the conquered city, his subjects scour the city for any who still resist, and some turn to bow as he passes. N’zoth’s growths have bloomed across the stone, yellow eyes growing from wooded walls following his progress, until he stands before the great gates to Stormwind Keep.

He avoided the keep in his visions, some cowardly part of him too afraid to face what might lie within. Now he knew there was nothing to be afraid of.

The doors held fast, and refused to open at his touch. A gout of molten flame and the wooden door disintegrated into ash, metal twisting and withering. As he stepped across the charred threshold, he noted the remains of the barricade on the other side, made of sandbags and wooden planks. The Keep’s courtyard is empty, perhaps they didn’t have enough soldiers to defend it. He knew his true prize was inside the keep proper anyway, and he was in no rush.

As he walked up the stone steps to the keep, he looked over at the broken statue of Varian Wrynn, and wondered idly what he would have done. Varian had been a very different king, would he have fought to the bitter end? Or would his rage have consumed him, made him vulnerable to the comforting voice of N’zoth? He will simply have to be content with never knowing.

He melted down the fortress’s door as well with just as little effort. It’s when he stepped inside that he started to smell blood. He didn’t see any bodies yet, but the smell of death was unmistakable, permeating so much of the purified city.

The throne room is the site of the slaughter. Soldiers and civilians alike, by their state of dress. Most of the mauled bodies were crowded around the doors, half dismantled barricades blocking their only exits. He delicately stepped around the corpses and puddles of gore, not wanting to get his boots dirty.

Wrathion approached the empty throne, oddly pristine among the viscera around it. On the floor by the Lion’s Seat was Shalamayne, abandoned, its light extinguished. Even the metal seemed duller in the gloom, as if the sword itself had died.

Wrathion’s heart leapt to his throat. No, not after all this, after his final victory, after finally bringing safety and peace to Azeroth. He couldn’t bear to think that after all this, one he loved would not be there to join him.

He spotted a trail of blood leading down the only open door to a hall on one side. He followed it deeper into the keep, his pace faster now. N’zoth had promised, he’d promised Wrathion that _he_ would be saved -

He spotted a bright light, out of place in the dark of the Old God’s world, spilling from a doorway. As he drew closer he realized it was a barrier of Light, covering a wooden door. He could faintly hear crying, praying, frantic words from beyond, about five humans he guessed. Before the door, pacing in front of a barrier it could never hope to break, was a Shadow beast.

It looked much like its lesser cousins that prowled the streets outside, through larger, stronger, grander. Long arms ended in spindly, clawed fingers, a mouth of dark fangs, and three bright, slitted orange eyes, which turned their gaze from its cornered prey to the Black Emperor. The lower half of its body was a mass of tentacles, thrashing with frustration, slowing to a gentle sway as Wrathion approached. The tattered remains of a blue coat trimmed in gold clung to its back, useless, like a vestigial organ.

The sight put his heart at ease.

The Shadow bowed to him, in recognition of its emperor.

Wrathion shook his head, “There is no need for such formalities between us.”

The Shadow tilted its head to one side, as if in confusion. Wrathion wasn’t sure what it didn’t understand, but Wrathion would take the time to explain, they had forever after all. He waved a hand at the Light barrier, “Allow me, old friend.” He did not fear the Light as creatures of Shadow did.

His flame was hot enough to make even the surrounding stone glow. When the fire faded, the door, and the barrier protecting it, was reduced to nothing.

The Shadow shrieked in triumph, hurling itself, claws first, into the room. Wrathion allowed the beast its victory, waiting until the screams and snarls were replaced with wet crunches and satisfied growls. Confident the Shadow was done with its work, he followed it.

The last humans in the keep were all dead, torn apart by dark claws. The Shadow’s head buried in the cracked open chest of one victim, feasting noisily on warm organs. As Wrathion stepped inside it looked up from its meal to give him a blank look. A long, dark tongue slithered out to clean the blood from its face.

He knelt down until he was eye level with the hunched form. Wrathion cradled its head in his hands, its eyes closed slowly, and it purred.

Wrathion smiled, dark and loving, “My dear, we are such beautiful terrors.”


End file.
